It may be hidden in the deepest
thoughts of prayer and surrender.
It may await us in the deepest levels of knowing who we are,
Or rest just above naval mines.
Maybe in the gutters of Skid Row,
Straddling opposite directions facing the rust belt.
Where we once saw factory workers, sweatshops, and church-goers,
drinking against the Hudson River.
Proving love is still the answer,
withstanding that we don’t agree.
Love is time
Love is the wound
Love is fire
Love is old
Love is deeper than any depth searching over and over
Love is dream
Love is prayer
Love is master
Love is slave